MID-MARCH. SATURDAY MORNING
Toronto, Canada
[1:00 pm: Cifer's House]
The late morning sun streamed through the wide windows of a white-painted house nestled in the city's bustle. Outside, birds chirped in a steady tune, their melody occasionally drowned out by the hum of cars passing on the street.
Despite the movement of urban life, a certain calm lingered in the air.
Like the world itself stopped to breathe.
Inside the kitchen, a different kind of rhythm filled the space.
Tsss~~~~
Garlic and onions crackled in the skillet, their fragrance quickly claiming the air. Over the stove stood Cifer, a man in his late twenties with sharp, rugged features softened only by the absurdly magenta apron wrapped around his frame.
Bright floral patterns sprawled across the fabric, a whimsical contrast to his tired presence.
CIFER POWERS
27 YEARS OLD
STATUS: IN A GOOD MOOD
He hummed faintly to himself as he worked, flipping the ingredients as if he was a professional when—
Ring~~~ Ring~~~
The shrill tone of the landline cut through the sizzling.
Cifer sighed, glancing toward the living room, but before he could move, he spotted a small figure already on her way there.
ROXANNE RICHTER
24 YEARS OLD
STATUS: HUNGRY
Roxanne plucked the receiver off its hook with the kind of casual impatience that defined her.
"The hell is this?" she muttered into the phone, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Uh-huh… yeah, he's here"
Cifer adjusted the heat on the stove, trying not to get distracted, until her sudden shout nearly made him drop the spatula.
"Oi, Cif! It's yours!"
Without thinking twice, she lobbed the phone across the room.
"Take over for a bit" Cifer said calmly, already reacting.
In perfect sync, he flicked the spatula toward her. Phone and utensil crossed paths midair.
Neither of them missed the timing. Cifer caught the receiver and placing it against his ear with casual ease, leaning back against the counter, while Roxanne snatched the spatula and strolled past him, taking control of the skillet like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You know me" Cifer greeted with a habitual tone. "Who's this?"
For a moment, it was silent.
—...Cifer…
The voice on the other end was soft, trembling, broken by the faint sound of muffled sobs. The casual air in his tone vanished instantly.
"...Knives?" he asked carefully.
A shaky breath answered him, followed by a choked whimper.
—He… he… waaah—
His brows furrowed. "Knives? What's wrong?"
—I… please… I—
"Slow down" he urged, trying to steady her through the line. "What happened? Where's your brother?"
—NO!
Her cry pierced through the static. It wasn't loud enough to make him flinch away, but it carried a desperation that rooted him in place.
—Please don't… sniff… please don't tell him.
She begged, her words tumbling out between ragged breaths.
Cifer let out a long sigh. ''Damn it…'
He was caught between two loyalties: his friendship with her brother, and the undeniable worry clawing at him for her sake.
"...Fine" he said at last, voice low. "I won't tell him. But you'd better tell me where you are"
His tone carried a stern edge, but the worry bleeding through made it clear he wasn't as composed as he sounded.
There was a pause—only the sound of her uneven breathing—before she finally whispered.
—...I'm at… sniff… the Reference Library…
"Alright, I'll be there in a bit" Cifer said firmly. "Sit tight by the entrance"
—Mhm… okay…
The line clicked, leaving him with only the faint crackle of silence.
Cifer slowly hooked the receiver back onto the wall-mounted base, his thoughts still lingering.
When he turned, his eyes landed on Roxanne, who was grumbling to herself while setting the table. She carefully spooned stir-fried vegetables onto white plates, making sure not a drop spilled.
The aroma of freshly cooked food hit him hard, tempting him to sit down and dig in, but he shook the thought away and tugged at the knot of his apron.
"Hey, Rox" he slipped it off and tossed it onto the corner. "Mind grabbing my phone and wallet from my room?"
Roxanne froze, spatula in hand. "Why should I? I just finished setting the table"
"Come on. I'm in a rush" Cifer pressed, already sounding distracted.
"Grr…" she narrowed her eyes, growling under her breath. "Bah! Fine"
Stomping her way toward the stairs, she disappeared to the second floor.
Cifer, already dressed in jeans and a plain gray shirt, made his way into the living room beside the kitchen.
He grabbed the white sweater draped over the sofa's arm and slipped it on, the fabric hugging his shoulder as he headed toward the door.
At the entryway, he crouched down and pulled on a pair of shining black boots, their polished surface catching a faint shine from the sunlight seeping through the windows. One knee bent, he tied the laces in quick motions just as heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs.
When he glanced back, Roxanne was there, wallet and phone in hand.
"Here" she said flatly.
She tossed them at him without ceremony.
Even bent over, Cifer managed to snatch both out of the air with ease.
"Thanks. I'll get going now"
He slid his wallet into his back pocket and his phone into the right, straightening to his full height.
The door handle clicked under his grip, a shaft of light spilling into the room as he pulled it open.
He paused, turning back just long enough to meet Roxanne's eyes.
"Leave some food for me. I'll try to be back soon"
Her lips curved into a mocking smirk. "No. Get back quick or starve yourself"
He chuckled softly at her reply, offering only a smile in return before stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.
The crisp wind hit his face immediately, making him shiver.
Drawing in a deep breath, he stretched his arm and legs, the city air sharpening his senses. Then, with a sudden burst of urgency, he broke into a run.
His boots pounded against the pavement in steady rhythm, carrying him toward the library—the distance faintly blurring his image.
—————————————————————————————
[Just a few minutes later. Toronto Reference Library]
Natural light poured through the library's towering glass, drenching the vast interior in a soft golden glow.
The high ceilings and sweeping lines of the architecture gave the building an airy sense of freedom, while rows upon rows of pristine white bookshelves stretched out like endless corridors of knowledge. Cozy seating areas dotted the space. Each lit by green-shaded lamps that cast warm pools of light over the tables where visitors immersed themselves in books, computers, or quiet conversations.
Through one set of glass doors, a man stumbled in—gray hair disheveled, sweat clinging to his brow, breath heavy from a hurried run. His boots thudded faintly against the carpet, his eyes scanning left and right as if chasing the faint hope of finding someone in the muted crowd.
Cifer stopped between the entry and exit gates, chest rising and falling. Pulling out his phone, he thumbed at the screen and raised it to his face.
Brrring… Brrring…
The phone buzzed in his hand, but his mind wandered, thoughts running circles as the phone rang.
The library's hum of activity seemed to blur.
Until he felt a small tug at the sleeve of his sweater.
His gaze shifted to the side.
There, clinging to his sleeve with trembling fingers, was a young girl. Her head was lowered, dark hair pulled back into a plain ponytail that framed the collar of her green track jacket. The faded fabric, paired with gray pants and the soft yellow of her backpack, made her look at once ordinary and achingly fragile.
KNIVES CHAU
17 YEARS OLD
STATUS: VERY HEARTBROKEN
Sniff…
"I… I don't…" Knives' voice wavered as she tried to hold back the tears still burning in her eyes. "I don't want to go home…"
Her words came out in fragments, broken by the quiet tremor in her breathing.
It was clear she had already cried until her strength gave out, yet her voice still carried the weight of emotions threatening to spill over again.
Cifer let out a long, steady sigh. He turned toward her fully, saying nothing at first.
Knives leaned against him, her head pressing softly against his chest, wordless but seeking comfort.
"You hungry?" his voice, calm and soft, cut through her shivering breaths. "I'll buy you lunch."
The words carried a quiet warmth that steadied her, even just a little. She didn't answer right away, but the faintest nod brushed against his clothes.
He offers, his voice soothing to hear for her which eventually calms down her quivering.
"...Alright"
Cifer didn't press her to speak further.
He adjusted his stance, then slowly guided her toward the glass doors.
His steps were slow, unnaturally so, as though to tell her there was no need to rush.
Knives followed without a sound, her head bowed, her hand still clutching tightly at his sweater.
They passed through the doors together, stepping into the noise and movement of the busy Toronto streets. Behind them, the glass doors closed with a muted whisper, only to be pushed open again by others coming and going.
Cifer glanced down at her once, her small figure keeping close at his side.
—————————————————————————————
[Alberta Avenue. Same time]
At the far end of a quiet street, where the crisp wind carried the sounds of birds and passing chatter, stood a house alive with warmth.
From outside, faint vibrations of music and conversation seeped through the walls, pulsing with energy.
Inside, a spacious room had been claimed by the spirit of a band. Strings hummed, cymbals rang, and tunes spilled into the air, mixing with the soft thrum of amps and the faint static of plugged-in instruments. Posters lined the walls, while a large patterned rug swallowed the center of the floor. A well-worn couch sat against one side of the room, the perfect perch for anyone not currently making noise.
At the heart of it, three figures filled the space with their own rhythm.
"You broke up with your high school girlfriend?"
The words came from a girl lounging behind a drum kit, her tone flat, uninterested.
She idly tapped the edge of a cymbal, the metallic ring punctuating her detached observation.
KIMBERLY PINE
23 YEARS OLD
STATUS: DOESN'T ACTUALLY CARE
"It's been, what, a few days since you even introduced her to us?"
This time, the scruffy man in a flannel shirt spoke, his fingers twisting the tuning pegs of his guitar. His gravelly voice carried more curiosity than concern.
STEPHEN STILLS
22 YEARS OLD
STATUS: CURIOUS, BUT DOESN'T CARE
"Don't worry about that" came the energetic reply.
A boy in a red ringer shirt grinned as he absentmindedly plucked at his bass strings. His words rang with overblown confidence, the kind only he could deliver.
SCOTT PILGRIM
23 YEARS OLD
STATUS: OBSESSED
"In a few days, I'll let you meet my new girlfriend" he laughed lightly, then lowered his voice almost theatrically. "...When I find her… haha…"
His bravado hung in the air, but neither Kim nor Stephen bothered to respond. One drifted back to her drum kit with a lazy tap-tap-tap, the other went back to tuning his guitar.
Only Kim, after a beat of silence, glanced up.
"...When you find her?" she repeated, her voice dry, as if she couldn't believe she even gave him the satisfaction of a follow-up.
Scott just kept playing with a dreamy grin plastered on his face, completely unfazed with Kim's tone.
"I don't actually know who she is yet" he admitted cheerfully. "But I'll probably see her soon—when I get my package"
He smiled wide, radiating optimism in the face of absolute uncertainty.
Kim arched an eyebrow. "Wow. You dumped your high school girlfriend… for some random chick you don't even know? What you did is just genius, Scott. Genius"
Her sarcasm dripped like venom.
But certain people are just resistant to toxin.
"Thank you, Kim" Scott replied without much thought, completely missing the bite in her tone. "I guess it was pretty smart. I don't even know what Cif was worrying about"
Kim pinched the bridge of her nose. 'How did this guy even thought of doing what he did with Cifer's advice'
Across the room, Stephen finally finished fiddling with his guitar. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he rose to his feet and crossed to the mic stand, his expression dead serious despite the absurd conversation hanging in the air.
"Alright" he said, cutting through the nonsense. "Scott's disaster of a love life aside—we need to practice. Like, a lot more"
He moved toward the drum kit, setting up a microphone stand beside Kim's spot.
Kim tapped her cymbals idly as she watched him. "Are we not playing enough already? What's the point of more practice?"
"I finally got us a show" Stephen replied, a flicker of pride in his tone. "Well, technically Julie did—but still. We're going on stage"
Scott perked up instantly. "Oh yeah?"
Kim rolled her eyes. "We call those gigs Stephen. Try to keep up with the industry lingo"
Stephen ignored her, fiddling with own mic stand. "It's on Wednesday. At the Rockit. I overheard Julie on the phone with the owner—they asked her if she knew any bands. So I told her—"
"Great story, man" Scott cut in, strumming his bass strings without care.
Kim gave Stephen her usual sharp look. "How did you even convince Julie? Don't we suck?"
Scott, still plucking at his strings, tilted his head. "Who are we even playing with?"
"It's… uh" Stephen paused, humming as he searched his memory. "...Crash? And the Boys"
"Ugh" Scott's face twisted instantly. "It's that one band with Crash… and those boys? I hate them"
He said it with the kind of exaggerated disdain that made it obvious he didn't actually know them.
"They're pretty good" Stephen countered with a sigh. "Which means we have to be better. So… warm-up time. Kim?"
Kim just gave a lazy nod, twirling her drumsticks. Stephen adjusted the strap on his shoulder. Across the room, their fourth member still hadn't looked up from his video game.
The three of them inhaled deeply, centering themselves. Scott and Stephen positioned their picks over the strings, waiting.
Kim raised her drumsticks high, smacking them together in rhythm before letting loose a primal yell:
"WE ARE! SEX BOB-BOMB! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!"
The room detonated in sound.
Scott's bass roared with thick, throbbing pulses, Stephen's guitar tore across the melody with raw grit, Kim's drums thundered like a battle cry. The noise was chaotic, messy, alive.
Energy surged through the cramped room, each note colliding into the next until their voices rose above it all. Stephen's gravelly lead cut through the distortion, while Scott and Kim's ragged harmonies slammed against his, the three combining into something rough but magnetic.
The music spilled past the walls, seeping into the streets outside, tearing through the calm of the neighborhood.
But inside, none of them cared. They only played louder.
—————————————————————————————
[KFC, Yonge Street. A few minutes after leaving the Library]
An unlikely pair sat tucked into a corner booth, their trays stacked with two-piece chicken, fries, and sweating cups of Coke.
But only one of them was eating.
Knives sat hunched over her meal, listlessly poking at the fries with her fork. The golden scent of fried chicken lingering in the air, yet her appetite had all but vanished. Each bite she took was small, hesitant, chewing itself felt like a chore.
Around them, laughter and chatter bounced through the restaurant, but in her little corner, the air was thick with silence.
Her eyes, rimmed red, looked hollow.
The tears had dried, but their weight lingered. She dared not speak, afraid that even the smallest word would unravel her again.
Across from her, Cifer watched quietly. He felt useless. He had brought her here, thinking maybe food might help, but he didn't know how to comfort her—didn't even know where to start.
This wasn't exactly his territory. His sister would've probably been better at this.
Still, he stayed. He figured if nothing else, his presence might be worth something.
Time trickled by in silence, the restaurant's noise fading into background static. Knives nibbled at her food slowly until, almost unconsciously, she finished her tray.
Cifer had polished off his own meal and hers as well before he finally decided he couldn't sit in silence any longer.
He leaned forward, voice steady but soft.
"...Look, Knives"
Her head lifted at last. Her eyes reflected fragile glass, but focused on him.
"I can't even begin to imagine how hard this is for you" he said, being careful with every word. "But… give yourself some time to think alone. You can talk to me then, okay?"
It was all he could offer… time.
Pathetic, maybe.
A twenty-something-year-old adult giving the most generic advice possible to a heartbroken girl. Still, her small nod was enough to tell him it mattered.
"Mhm…" she muttered.
Cifer gave a faint smile, leaning back in his seat. "We should get you home. I'll call your brother. For now… maybe wash up a bit before he gets here"
Another small nod. "Mmm…"
She stood slowly, turning toward the restroom. Cifer exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he dug his phone out of his pocket.
Brrring. Brrring.
The line clicked.
—Yo, Cif! Rare for you to call first. What's up?
The voice on the other end was deep, cheerful, and far too loud for the fragile atmosphere hanging over his booth.
Cifer pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hey. Listen. I'm with your sister right now"
—Oh? I thought she was with Pilgrim?
"About that…" he hesitated. He knew how protective her brother was—how quickly his scolding would flare. But some truths had to be said. "Things happened. Can you pick her up? We're at the KFC I used to work at"
—Sure. I'm nearby anyway. Give me a couple minutes
"One more thing" Cifer added sharply. "Give her space, alright? Don't start lecturing her the second you see her. She needs time to breathe"
—...Fine, fine. But I gotta hang up now before the light turns green. See you in a bit.
"Yeah. See you when I see you"
Cifer slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned against the seat. Around him, the bustle of the restaurant carried on—people laughing, trays clattering, soda fizzing.
He let out a long breath.
'She's gonna be okay' he told himself. 'She just needs time'
—————————————————————————————
[2:30-ish pm: Markham Street]
Cifer strolled down Markham Street, his pace unhurried despite the chaos around him.
Unlike the quieter streets near his home, this place was alive. Vendors barked out their sales pitches, people waved through one another like threads in a tapestry, and the air carried a jumble of scents—fried food, car exhaust, and fresh paper from the bookstores lining the block.
He wasn't really here for anything in particular. Just walking. Just thinking.
That was when his eyes landed on a familiar figure in front of one of the shops. He squinted, trying to make sure.
A girl was fiddling with the store's lock, her dark hair catching the afternoon sun.
When he got closer, the details sharpened—green turtleneck sweater, faded blue jeans, fair skin that almost seemed to glow against the city's backdrop.
Cifer lifted a hand. "Hol!"
She straightened at the sound of her name, turning toward him.
Her haircut was the same as he remembered—short, with her bangs framing her face in a sharp, deliberate style. Two strands hung loose at the side, swaying with the slightest movement, giving her a subtle, effortless elegance.
Her eyes—deep black with a faint shimmer of purple eyeshadow—met his.
For a moment, her expression was blank, unreadable. Then, just like that, she broke into a smile.
HOLLIE HAWKES
26 YEARS OLD
STATUS: CHILDHOOD FRIEND
"Cif!" she said, voice casual, almost detached. But her tone carried a warmth that her words didn't. "What brings you here?"
"Just… walking. Needed to think about stuff"
Hollie arched an eyebrow, amused. "Thinking, huh? Isn't that what you're always doing anyway? What's up this time?"
"Well…" he scratched his cheek. "It's… complicated? Or maybe simple. Actually… I don't even know"
The words tumbled awkwardly out of him, earning a soft chuckle.
Hollie's expression softened—still lanced with her trademark apathy, but now touched with quiet amusement.
"Let's talk while we walk" she said. "I was heading home now anyway"
She slipped the keys into her pocket and took the lead without waiting for a response, her stride smooth, confident.
Cifer blinked, then quickened his steps to fall in beside her, matching her pace.
"...How's the video store been?" he asked finally, fishing for a safer topic.
"Surviving, at least" Hollie replied, her tone flat but not unfriendly. "Julie never showed up today though. Know where she's at?"
"She called this morning" Cifer said. "Something about a show at RockIt in a few days. She's probably at there planning it"
Hollie gave a small scoff. "Figures. Basically another one of her parties. Doesn't she ever get tired of them?"
"Probably not" Cifer admitted with a shrug.
Even as her brother, he never really understood how his sister's mind worked.
"Though… it's less than it used to be. Honestly, I kind of hope she gets bored of it one day"
"Mm. Same" Hollie's lips curved into the faintest of smirk. "Still, it gives us an excuse to drink, so it's not all bad"
"Could use one right now" Cifer muttered, exhaling with a short, humourless laugh.
But even as he said it, the weight on his chest tugged him back to earlier in the day. His mood dimmed without him meaning to.
Hollie glanced sideways at him, her sharp eyes catching the shift.
"Something's obviously bothering you" her voiced her observation. "Mind sharing?"
He hesitated, shoving his hands in his pockets. "...I just felt lacking, you know?"
The words came out heavier than he intended. His voice carried that trace of dejection that even he couldn't hide.
"There was this girl—Knives. She just went through a really rough breakup"
"Mhm~" Hollie hummed, tilting her head slightly.
She didn't press him, but the way her eyes stayed on him said she was listening. She didn't even know who this Knives person was, but she knew Cifer well enough to recognize when something truly weighed on him.
"I mean…" Cifer rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm glad she came to me at all, y'know? That she trusted me with… her feelings"
On the surface, Hollie's face was still unreadable, her usual mask of indifference.
But Cifer knew her too well too; the way she kept quiet, the slight tilt of her head—she was listening intently.
That was just how she was.
"But all I managed to do was buy her food and toss out some generic fucking advice" his voice dropped, tinged with frustration. "'Give it time'? Really? That's all I had? Pretty damn disappointing, isn't it?"
Hollie's lips curved faintly, though her tone stayed casual. "I mean, that's not even bad advice. I don't get why you're beating yourself so much over it"
"I don't know… Ha…" Cifer sighed heavily, shoulder sagging. "Just feels like I should've been able to say more. As the older one, you know? Instead of… that"
For a moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the sidewalks. Then Hollie spoke, her voice even but carrying a surprising softness beneath the apathy.
"Listen, Cif. Sometimes it's better not to say too much. Or anything at all. Last thing you wanna do is throw words at someone who isn't ready to hear them" her gaze flicked sideways again, meeting his briefly. "Besides… you being there was probably all she needed"
"...You think so?" he asked, doubt flickering in his tone.
"Of course" For once, she gave him a genuine smile—subtle, but real. "I can guarantee that much"
Cifer felt a small weight ease from his chest. "...Guess so. Thanks"
"Not really something you need to thank me for" Hollie replied with a shrug. "Just glad I got you to talk before you dragged it home. God knows your IQ drops ten points every second you spend overthinking"
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Even if he still felt disheartened, her words made sense. He wanted to thank her properly.
"...Still" Cifer said. "I should buy you a drink again sometime"
Hollie blinked, then chuckled. "Buy me a drink? You? That's rich, coming from a guy who already works in a bar"
Her laugh was soft, teasing—but there was warmth behind it, appreciation tucked inside sarcasm.
They slowed to a stop at a crossroad. The pedestrian signal still showed red, and Cifer glanced up at it absently. Hollie glanced up at him, then away, biting back the hesitation building in her chest.
'Should I just ask?'
Before she could lose her nerve, she gave his shoulder a light poke.
Cifer stared down at her.
"Forget the drink" she said suddenly. Her voice was steady, but her words carried a quiet weight. "Just take me out on a date… like old times"
The last part slipped out so softly it was almost swallowed by the city noise. Only her practiced deadpan expression saved her from looking completely flustered.
Cifer's eyes widened.
"I-I don't really think that's a good idea" he stammered, his attempt at a refusal undone by the shame flickering across his face.
He looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
Embarrassment wasn't what he was hiding. It seemed like something else was his reasoning.
"Don't let it get to your head too much" Holly said, trying to sound casual. "It's just one date"
But the way she lingered on the words made it clear she wanted it more than she's letting out.
"I don't know" Cifer muttered. Even to himself, he didn't sound sure.
Hollie knew pushing him would only make him retreat. He'd been forced into too many things in life already.
"...Well, keep my offer in mind" she said at last, pointing toward the opposite street. "But I'm heading that way"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. See you around… then?"
"Sure" she gave him a small wave, adding with the faintest of smirk. "I'll be expecting that date, Powers"
Then she turned and started walking, her stride smooth and unhurried, hips swaying with a casual rhythm that drew his eyes after her.
She was already half a block away when Cifer cupped his hands and called out, louder this time:
"I don't know about the date! But thanks for the talk! I needed it!"
Hollie turned her head, raising one hand to wave again. Her face didn't change much—still the same apathetic expression as she always wore—but for a fleeting moment, there was a brightness in it, a soft smile she didn't bother to hide.
Then she turned back and kept walking.
Cifer lingered on the sidewalk, staring until she vanished into the crowd. When he looked back up, the walk signal finally turned green. He crossed with the flow of people, his thoughts lighter than his steps.
His chest lost weight—but it wasn't gone. If anything, it shifted, guilt twisting beneath the surface.
After all, the one who told Scott to break up with Knives… was him.
"Ha… guess I'm not one to talk"
The sigh slipped out before he realized, his palm dragging down his face as if to rub away his thoughts.
He decided not to rush. Let the walk home take as long as it wanted.
He needed time. To think about what he'd done, about what she should feel, about what she should do next.
For a while, everything around him faded into mute colors. The hum of engines, the chatter of passersby, even the barking of dogs and the flutter of birds—all of it blurred into background noise. He focused only on not colliding with strangers, letting his thoughts drown out the world.
He was used to this—getting lost in his head. It was easier to let the noise inside roar louder than everything outside.
—————————————————————————————
[4:00 pm, Cifer's house]
While Cifer was out wandering and wrestling his thoughts, his home sat in quiet contrast.
The curtains were drawn, shutting out the gold of the setting sun. The only light came from the television's flicker—blue, red, and static gray spilling across the room.
On the couch, Roxanne sprawled deep into the cushions, the remote in hand. A small alligator dozed against her feet, snout pressed lazily to her ankle, its soft hisses rising and falling in rhythm with its sleep breaths.
Ha…
Her sigh filled the room, her expression slack with boredom.
After Cifer left, contrary to what she told him—not that she'd admit it—she left him something to eat in the fridge.
Now, with nothing else to do, she was left stewing in silence, waiting for him to come back.
'Should I have gone with him…?' she thought idly.
Then she shook her head.
'Nah~'
Though she was close with Cifer, his circle of friends was a different matter. Back in college, she'd only hung out with them when he was around, and even then she'd never felt truly comfortable. With him, it was different. Easier.
She set the remote aside and scooped up the gator from her feet, cradling him in her arms.
The reptile stirred, blinking sleepy emerald eyes at her.
"Why the hell is your owner always so god damn busy, Roid?" she muttered, raising him up to eye level.
The gator hissed softly, haws stretching in a lazy yawn before settling again, entirely uninterested in her complaints.
"Son of a bitch hasn't changed since college" Rox grumbled, setting Asteroid back on her torso.
He nestled into her shirt, scales cool against the fabric.
She picked up the remote again and began flicking through the channels with disinterest. Comedy, news, game shows, static. Nothing caught her. Just white noise.
Then, unbidden, a thought surfaced.
'It seemed more… fresh than the rest'
The scar she saw from last night caught her notice again.
It was bigger than the rest. Not the kind of wound a blade would leave, not like the usual ones she'd seen on him before.
Definitely something had happened after they'd drifted apart.
Her chest tightened, her face warming as another memory from last night tried to push its way in.
"GRAAAAH!!! No, no, NO! Damn it!"
Roxie bolted upright, startling Rex so badly he scrambled off her lap with a hiss.
She raked her hands through her hair, flailing against the couch cushions.
"Ugh~ why do I have to remember that now?!" she groaned, burying her burning face into her palms.
The small dinosaur beside her simply stared, blinking in silence as if annoyed by her outburst.
She peeked out from her hands, glaring up at the ceiling. Her blush had faded, but her frustration lingered, deeper than before.
"...The hell is he acting like nothing happened for?" she whispered bitterly.
That was the part that gnawed at her the most. Every time she thought about that night, it made her pulse jump, her stomach twist.
But Cifer?
He'd carried on as if it hadn't even mattered.
His calm normalcy forced her into the same routine.
And it drove her insane.
…Tch
She grabbed the remote again and flicked through the channels with sharp, impatient clicks.
Nothing held her attention. Instead, her eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by frustration and the dim room.
Ha~~~
Her yawn echoed quietly as Asteroid crawled back onto her lap, relaxing like nothing had happened.
Roxanne sighed, turned off the television, and let the remote drop to the side.
The room fell into near darkness, shadows stretched long across the walls.
She leaned back, her breathing steadying, her irritation finally fading into drowsiness.
And in the quiet of the room, Roxanne Richter surrendered to sleep—her scowl softening, her thoughts drifting—leaving only the subtle rhythm of her breaths to fill the stillness.
—————————————————————————————
[??? Years Ago. ???]
The sky was crying.
Rain lashed against the windows, each droplet striking like a muted drum.
Inside the quiet dorm room, silence pressed heavy against the walls.
A young girl sat by the window, her back hunched, her eyes vacant. No tears streaked her face, but sorrow dulled her gaze. Where her eyes once held a warm mahogany glow, they were now faded, hollow—like the light had been drained away.
ROXANNE RICHTER
AGE UNKNOWN
STATUS: UNKNOWN
She turned her head slightly. Through the half-open door, muffled voices floated in. Two figures stood just beyond: one carrying a box, the other speaking with them.
Her eyes fixed not on the mover, but the girl beside them.
The girl's hair was the soft pink of cherry blossoms, swaying with each turn of her head. A navy-blue collared shirt hugged her frame, the hem tied loosely to her waist to reveal a silver of pale midriff. She looked alive in a way Roxanne suddenly realized she wasn't.
UNKNOWN
AGE UNKNOWN
STATUS: UNKNOWN
They chatted for a while. Then the person with the box walked away, leaving the girl standing there.
She lingered, turning back toward the room.
And her eyes found Roxie's.
Ah…
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Her throat locked, her body frozen. She couldn't cry, couldn't scream. She couldn't even manage a simple wait.
The girl's expression shifted—like she might say something too. But her lips closed, the words dying before they could live. She only stood there, watching Roxanne in silence.
Then someone called her name.
She turned back, gave the faintest wave, and walked away.
Roxanne lowered her head.
'Shit…'
Her mind was blank, scraped clean of thought. Empty… yet unbearably heavy.
She didn't know what to feel.
Only that it wasn't good.
Outside, an engine roared. Roxanne looked back to the window just in time to see the truck pull away. Through the open passenger window, she caught one last glimpse of the girl.
And then she was gone.
"Ah…"
'I'm alone now…'
It should have been painful.
Instead, there was a hollow stillness inside her chest.
Then something warm fell against her thigh.
Roxanne blinked down.
"I must've left the window open…" she muttered, reaching toward the latch. But the window was closed tight.
Another drop landed.
Then another.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the glass—only to see her own reflection staring back. Tears streamed down her face in rivers, carving paths across her pale cheeks.
"Ah…"
Her breath hitched. She tried to swallow the sound, but it clawed its way out anyway.
"Haha… ha… ah…"
And then the silence shattered.
Her scream was broken, strangled, but to her ears it drowned out the storm outside.
She slid from her chair, collapsing to her knees, fists pressed to the floor as sobs wracked her body.
The dorm that once felt warm and small now loomed vast and empty.
Every corner echoed with absence.
No words. No comfort. Now warmth. Just the truth she could no longer deny.
The one she loved was gone. No explanations. No goodbye.
Not even a breakup.
Only a glance. Only silence.
Roxanne cried until her throat burned and her chest ached.
She cried as night swallowed the day.
She cried because it was all she could do… because in that moment, it was all she had left.
—————————————————————————————
[11:00 pm. Cifer's House]
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp and the flicker of the television.
Shadows pooled in the corners, leaving just enough light to see without breaking the calm of the night.
Roxanne stirred. Her head felt heavy, her senses dulled by lingering sleep.
Something warm pressed against her cheek, a bit rough… but comforting.
Without thinking, she nuzzled closer, her hands clutching instinctively at whatever it was.
It took a few moments for her foggy mind to catch up. She wasn't just wrapped in warmth—she was wrapped in an actual blanket.
'...What?'
Her eyes blinked open. The TV was still on, its screen painting the room in restless blues.
She was sure she'd switched it off before dozing.
Then—
"If you're awake" a familiar weary voice murmured. "Mind getting off now?"
Her heart skipped.
She turned her head and froze. Sitting beside her, silver hair catching the dim light, was Cifer. His eyes were fixed on the screen, his voice calm but edged with fatigue.
Roxanne's gaze dropped—straight to where her arms were wrapped around his. Her whole body had curled up against him in her sleep.
She instantly let go, retreating to the far end of the couch, her face heating in a mix of surprise and embarrassment.
Cifer finally looked her way. "Nightmare?"
"Eh?" Roxanne blinked, utterly lost at his questions.
"You were mumbling in your sleep" he explained, setting the remote on the coffee table.
His tone wasn't teasing, just… worried.
He turned fully toward her then, his expression unreadable. "Also…"
Before she could ask what he meant, his hand lifted.
She stiffened but didn't pull away as his fingers brushed her cheek. The touch was gentle—careful even—as he tilted her face toward him.
Roxanne froze, caught between confusion and something else she couldn't name. Her cheeks flared crimson.
"Wh-what the hell are you—"
"You're crying" Cifer cut in softly.
His thumb traced just beneath her eye, wiping away a tear she hadn't realized was there.
Another followed, and he brushed it away too, his hand steady against her skin.
The gesture was so unexpected—so tender—that for a moment Roxanne forgot how to breathe.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
'This little…!' she cursed inwardly, trying to bury her fluster beneath a scowl.
Annoyance was easier than admitting how much the simple touch rattled her.
"I never said you could touch my face" she muttered, flicking his hand away.
Cifer didn't flinch. He only gave a soft smile, and was annoyingly unbothered.
Seeing that she was herself again, he rose from the couch, giving his joints a quiet crack. "If you're fine, then I'm heading to bed. I still have work tomorrow"
"On a Sunday?" Roxanne arched a brow.
From what she'd seen in the two weeks she'd been staying here. Sunday was the one day he didn't work.
"Yeah" he replied easily. "I'm helping out with a church ceremony. And Butch asked be to cover for him at his shop again"
"Right…" she nodded absently, folding the blanket across her lap before setting it beside her. "Well, I'm heading out tomorrow too. Got a few places to check out"
"If you need help, give me a call"
"As if I'd need your help" Roxie scoffed, though there was no bite behind it.
Cifer chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped toward the stairs. "Heh. The offer stands, anyway"
He paused at the foot of the staircase, as if remembering something.
Glancing back, he added. "Oh—dinner's in the fridge. Figured you hadn't eaten yet. Just heat it up"
With that, he headed upstairs.
His footsteps grew softer until the sound of a door clicking shut left the living room quiet once more.
Roxanne exhaled, glancing toward the alligator that watched her with lazy indifference.
Eventually, she pushed herself off the couch and padded toward the kitchen.
The fluorescent light flickered on with a switch, brightening the space. She opened the fridge to feel the cold hit her skin, greeted by shelves packed with leftovers and neatly arranged containers. But front and center sat a single white ceramic plate, a sticky note perched on top.
"This one?" she murmured, eyes narrowing at the suspiciously deliberate placement.
She plucked the note free, scanning the frustratingly neat penmanship she recognized across it.
It was her name. Obviously.
A small smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She lifted the plate out carefully, closing the fridge with her hip.
"He doesn't look like it" she muttered under her breath. "But he sure can cook"
On the plate sat a serving of chicken alfredo, the creamy sauce catching the fridge light with a glossy sheen. She carried it over to the counter, slipping the dish into the microwave and setting the timer to three minutes.
With nothing to do but wait, Roxie slumped onto one of the stools, elbows propped on the chill counter. The kitchen was wrapped in the late night silence, broken only by the low hum of the microwave. For a moment, she let herself drift, eyes half-lidded as her thoughts scattered.
Grrr~
"...What the—?!"
Her head snapped up just in time to see the small, scaly snout nudge against her leg. The alligator had waddled in with her, his little claws tapping softly against the tiled floor.
The initial shock melted instantly into amusement. Roxanne smirked, crouching slightly to extend her hand. The reptile regarded her with cautious, slit-pupiled yes, then nuzzled against her palm.
"Little menace"
Her fingers brushed across his tough scales as he leaned into her touch, surprisingly docile for something with jaws strong enough to snap a limb. She chuckled softly, running her hand down his back as he shifted closer.
Minutes slipped by in their quiet play. The heaviness she'd carried from her nap was gone, replaced with an easy warmth. She couldn't even remember what that dream had been—only that it left her with tears on her cheeks.
Important? Maybe.
Painful? Probably.
But if she couldn't recall it, what was the point in dwelling?
For now, she let it fade, her quiet laughter mingling with the low hum of the microwave. Upstairs, Cifer was no doubt already out cold, sprawled in bed like a corpse.
'He really does push himself too hard' she thought idly, scratching under Asteroid's chin. '...Wonder why he works too much'
The thought lingered for a heartbeat, then she brushed it off. Not her business.
Not yet.
Ding!
The microwave chimed, cutting through her calm.
Roxanne straightened, pulling the hot plate free and setting it on the counter.
The creamy aroma of chicken wafted up instantly, her stomach growling in response.
She dug in without cooling it, savoring the hot first bite with a low hum of approval.
Across from her, Asteroid's unblinking gaze fixed firmly on the food on her plate.
"No. Don't give me that look"
The reptile tilted his head, almost pleading. She snorted, stabbing another forkful.
"Cute, but not that cute. This is mine"
Ignoring his hissing protests, Roxanne continued eating in peace. The kitchen filled with quiet rhythm of her utensils against ceramic, the warmth of the food spreading through her chest.
For the first time that day, she felt… settled.
—————————————————————————————
[1:00 pm. Monday afternoon. Somewhere in Alberta Avenue]
Swish. Swish. Swish
The chill cut sharp against the skin, the wind stronger than usual as it swept through the Avenue.
Clouds blanketed the sky, muting the sun, casting the street in a pale gray tone. Against the backdrop, the sharp whirr of rollerblades echoed across the pavement.
A blur of motion slipped between houses: goggles shielding her eyes, a black hoodie tucked beneath a zipped brown jacket, skirt brushing against her knees, stockings catching the wind. At her throat, a necklace glinted faintly as if wound too snugly.
RAMONA FLOWERS
AGE UNKNOWN
STATUS: WORKING
She moved door to door without pause, rapping on each before dropping packages into waiting hands—or onto porches, when no one answered. Her bag thumped lightly at her side with every stride, growing lighter with each deliver.
Even though it weighed nothing.
Fishing out the next box, her eyes flicked to the label.
"...Wallace Wells" she muttered.
Her pace quickened. That address was close, closer than she expected. The numbers slid past as she skated down the row of townhouses.
"Sixty-three… sixty-four… sixty-six—wait. What?"
Her wheels screeched to a halt.
Ramona frowned, double-checked the package, then the doors, then the package again—because clearly the cardboard was at fault here.
It wasn't.
Brows knitting, she scanned the row once more. "Sixty-four… sixty-six… where the hell—ah"
There.
Wedged between two staircases like someone had stuffed it there as an afterthought was a narrow little door. Barely noticeable unless you squinted.
Ramona stared. '...Hobbit hole?'
Still, the brass numbers on the wood matched the package in her hands. With a soft sigh, she rolled forward, lifted her hand to press the buzzer.
Ding-d—Click! Bam!
The bell hadn't even finished chiming when the door flung open with a bang.
"Huh?" Ramona startled back, her grip on the package tightening.
A young man stood framed in the doorway. Tawny hair cropped short, thick eyebrows like they'd been sketched in too boldly, a pale blue ringer tee hanging loosely on his frame.
His eyes widened the second they locked on hers.
SCOTT PILGRIM
23 YEARS OLD
STATUS: OBSESSED